Procedures for an Unlikely Partnership
by dancethenight-03
Summary: It seemed Philomène Paradis had this thing for getting herself into trouble. She was long used to the impossible situations in which she would find herself, but this one topped them all. Now stuck in New York City with no clothes, no money and no way of going home, the only thing she can do is put all her trust in one certain arachnidan Peter Parker. Peter/OC-movieverse post TASM 2
1. Prologue

**Author's Note : **Oh My Gawd, first fanfic evaaaa! *squeals like a wet fangirl* So there it is! (Try to) Enjoy!

* * *

"-I'll stay.

-I suggest you hit, sir.

-I also like to live dangerously."

Austin Powers - _International Man of Mystery_

* * *

**A Few Indications, Please**

Today was a normal summer day in New York City: suffocating heat coming from the buildings and the pavement, smog drifting above the capital, and people jumping on cars and sticking to their hoods.

Wait, that would be believable if said person was dressed in a red and blue skin-tight suit.

That would be believable if said person was Spider-Man, but that was not the case.

Instead, said person was a girl, and in addition was only wearing underwear.

Let me tell you, said person was receiving more than a few bewildered looks from the passers-by.

Said person's name was Philomène Paradis, and had no idea what she was doing here, in the middle of the most occupied boulevard of downtown Manhattan at morning rush hour, her hands and feet literally glued to the hood of a taxi.

The driver was honking at her, and she could see his furious expression through the windshield. All the traffic was stuck because of her, she realized.

She tried to let go of the car, but her nails were deeply staved-in the sheet metal. How was that even possible?

Philomène Paradis looked around her, only to see a crowd of people pointing at her, taking photos and even filming her little struggle.

She felt like a deer caught in headlights.

At the same moment, the driver decided he'd had enough of her antics and got out of his car, readying himself to tell her what he thought about people jumping on car hoods and teenagers craving for attention.

Panicked, Philomène Paradis jumped away from the driver and therefore, from the taxi. She was free, even though she didn't know how.

She took in her surroundings, trying to understand where she was.

But when she almost got run over for the third time, she realized she was in the middle of a very busy street of a very busy city, and proceeded to run away as fast as possible from this nosy crowd and this infuriated taxi driver, almost getting run over again, bumping into the people on the sidewalk who were still staring at her, mouth agape.

That is how a normal summer day in New York City started.

* * *

Today was a normal summer day in New York City: suffocating heat coming from the buildings and the pavement, smog drifting above the capital, and people jumping on cars and sticking to their hoods.

Peter Parker could not believe his eyes. Although after a whole night of chasing criminals, seeing what he was seeing should not be so surprising.

But no, by the looks on the faces of the people around him, he was not the only one who had watched a half-naked girl being dropped from the back of a driving truck; the same half-naked girl almost getting crushed by a taxi but instead getting up faster than anything he'd ever seen and jumping on the hood of the car. And then said half-naked girl disappearing in the crowd like a terrorized animal.

Peter Parker was, if his face was any guide of reference, a little more than puzzled.

* * *

Philo had run to the first police station she had spotted. But she hadn't gotten the help she was looking for.

"Hi, I need-"

But no one had listened to the rest of her sentence since a real cacophony had erupted in the police office:

"What the hell, kid-"

"What are you doing?"

"Is she drunk?"

"Arrest her!"

So there she was, hiding in an alley nearby, her feet now aching of treading upon the pavement, her whole body shivering of not knowing _what the hell _was happening to her.

Philo sat down on the ground, along with the garbage cans and the rats.

"Hey rat", she greeted miserably.

The creature looked at her curiously, and then proceeded to dig for food through the waste.

"I hope you like it here. It seems like a nice place to kick it."

The rat stopped and stared at her again, as if it understood what she was saying.

Philo stared back, until the rat got back to its business.

She sighed lamentably before standing up. The rat paid her no attention.

She walked to the end of the alley, and watched the street that was stretching out before her, trying to guess in what city she could be in.

"Everything is written in English", she noticed. "So I must either be in the United States or in English Canada… or in Great Britain… Or in Ireland… Or…"

She moaned dramatically when the realization hit her.

"I have no idea where I am."

* * *

_We have confirmation that the thief who robbed the thrift shop in Chinatown is the same girl who has been reported this morning to be running around the streets of Manhattan in states of undress. The police are still trying to get their hands on this mysterious and rather unbelievable character. Ashley Summers here, on CBN 4 News. Stay tuned for more!_

* * *

Philomène Paradis was now walking casually in the streets of Manhattan, dressed in a mom's jean and an oversized black sweat-shirt. She was not very proud of what she had done but hey, people in New York were not willing to help her, so what could she do?

Besides, she finally knew where she was, since she had been able to ask someone on the street without being ignored, even though she had gotten a weird look for not knowing her own current emplacement.

Although she had settled a few of her problems, Philomène was still in a quite bad situation.

"What's next?" she asked herself. "Getting dressed; check, ask someone in which city I am; check. So what now?"

Her stomach answered for her.

* * *

_The mysterious nudist has stricken again! Yes, the Chinatown thrift shop thief has acted up again, this time robbing a small local grocery store! The police reports that a pair of blue jeans and a black sweat-shirt were stolen from the thrift shop, so we can expect our thief to be dressed that way. Ashley Summers here, on CBN 4 News. Keep your eyes opened!_

* * *

**R&R!**


	2. Of Pizzas and Aliens

**Author's Note:** Soooooo chapter 2 already! It's easier, y'know, since I already have the plot in my head... Hope you enjoy!

* * *

"Look at this, OK? I want you to remember this face. This is the guy behind the guy behind the guy."

Trent Walker - _Swingers_

* * *

**Of Pizzas and Aliens**

"Director Fury? I think you should see this."

"What is it, Agent Hill?"

"We might have tracked another one…"

"Let me see this."

Nick Fury took the touch pad Agent Hill was handing him. He looked down at it, his finger occasionally sweeping the screen to change the window. The more he read, the more his face darkened.

"No registered identity, huh? This looks pretty much like a case of Chitauri in hiding…"

"We can't be sure yet, Director. She, or he, has shown no signs of aggressivity or hostility. Yet."

"We'll see about that", answered Fury, giving back the tablet. "Agent Hill, I need you to collect as much information as you can about… it. In any way you can."

"Will be done, sir."

Without adding a word, Nick Fury walked out the operations center sharply, his long coat flapping in his wake like a bat's wings.

* * *

Philomène was roaming the now darkening streets again, hungry and lost. Her day had begun like crap, to say the least, and it had not improved.

First of all, when the summer sun had gotten at its highest, she had realized her clothes were not fully adapted to the temperature, and she had went through her day sweating profusely in her ironically named black sweat-shirt.

Second of all, a few fresh fruits made a great breakfast, but they were less than enough to get through a whole day.

Therefore, Philomène Paradis had been almost twelve hours without eating, and she was starving.

The people walking the streets were not paying her any attention. They were most likely in a hurry to get back to their homes after another hot day of work.

Their homes. Philomène realized she would have nowhere to sleep tonight. She had no money with her to pay for any hotel room, as cheap as it would be.

But the course of her thoughts was interrupted by the savory smell of pizza. She immediately spotted the little restaurant from where it was coming ("Double Pizza", she read.)

Philomène had always had this thing for pizza, and now that she was hungry like never, the prospect of eating some was most appealing. She thus entered without a moment's hesitation.

The smell almost made her pass out. This was that kind of pizzeria that looked poor and dirty, in which drunk people would come in the wee hours of the morning to satisfy their hunger and leave their filth everywhere, but also the kind that made the most succulencious pizzas in the whole universe.

Philomène Paradis knew this, because she had tried a lot of pizzerias back in her home town, Montreal. The big and fancy restaurants would always offer tiny pizzas with a quarter of millimeter of sauce and a special but stinky cheese on them, when a shabby and underground pizzeria would serve the most greasy, thick and delectable pizzas in town.

Philo sat down on a scratched chair and waited for the Asiatic waiter to come and take her order.

The words tumbled out of her mouth in her hurry to eat:

"I'llhavecheesepepperoniwithextrabacon. Please."

"Something to drink?" asked the man in a clearly bored tone.

"Water, please." Philomène was squirming in her seat at the prospect of the pizza she was about to devour. She was so excited that she forgot about her main problem of the day: she had no money.

Hence, when she was done stuffing her face in the indeed exquisite pizza and the waiter brought her the bill, she froze on her seat.

She looked around her as the man walked back to the main counter. There were few customers, and none of them was looking at her. She knew she had no choice to do what she was about to do. She sent one last burst of nervous glances around her before proceeding to walk casually towards the exit.

But her waiter was having none of it. He immediately spotted her attempt and started yelling like a maniac.

Philomène stiffened at the dreaded shouts and did the only thing she could think of: she ran out of the pizzeria.

Once in the street, she tried to mingle with the other pedestrians, but the waiter, now along with his boss, was shouting to the people in the street to stop her!

"Dude, chill out, it's only a pizza", she muttered to herself before starting running again. She was nonetheless scared by the situation, and she felt the adrenaline kick in. She saw that people were following her with their eyes, even though none of them made the slightest gesture to stop her. Maybe they were used to that kind of scene, or they merely didn't want to have anything to do with this.

Philo focused on where she was running, and she realized the world around her had changed. Or was it she who had? She wouldn't know.

All she knew was that the cars seemed to drive more slowly, the dark alleys looked brighter and she felt like her legs could carry her anywhere without anyone ever catching her.

She was amazed.

Philo ran for a while in that state, easily dodging the spilt trash cans and low clothes lines that were hanging in the narrow alleys she was covering.

She finally had to stop in the corner of a backstreet because of a mean cramp in her stomach.

"I shouldn't have eaten so fast", she wheezed, doubled over.

A noise. Something she shouldn't have been able to hear. Something like a very soft landing, softer than a cat's.

Philomène looked up through the darkness to see a silhouette. A slender though intimidating, red and blue silhouette, facing her in the alley, blocking her exit.

And she knew at once who this was. She might not be from around here but, even in Montreal, she had heard of the feats of the infamous New York City's vigilante: Spider-Man.

But Philo was not one to panic for so little.

"Hi", she said, waving her hand. She didn't want to make enemies, after all. Might as well be nice.

"Don't you know stealing is forbidden?" came the condescending reply as Spider-Man started walking nonchalantly towards her.

_And I'm in trouble,_ thought Philomène. She looked around her nervously, trying to find another way out the backstreet.

Behind her, there was a chain-link fence obstructing her path. A pretty damn high one, mind you.

But Philo still felt like she could go anywhere, all of muscles tensed by the adrenaline.

She didn't hesitate.

She ran towards the fence, Spider-Man in her tracks. He probably thought she would stop at the fence, or at least attempt to climb it slowly and clumsily, but Philo made it to the top in one bound, surprising both herself and her pursuer.

She lingered there for a quarter of second, crouched like a wildcat, before jumping down on the other side of the fence. She turned around instantly to check where Spider-Man was on the other side, but he was nowhere to be seen.

"Have you practiced this for this very moment?" came a drawling voice behind her.

Philomène's head whipped around so fast she thought she had broken a vertebra. Spider-Man was once again facing her, blocking the other exit to the alley. Her heart was pounding in her throat. How had he done that? And more importantly, what would he do to her if he ever caught her? She didn't want to know.

"Look-" she tried to reason, lifting her hands in front of her, but he cut her off:

"Who are you?" he inquired. "What did you steal?"

Philo's breath caught in her throat. She choked on it as she started to laugh out of stress.

"I… So… it's about _that_?!"

"About what?" Spider-Man sounded deadly serious. "Look, kid, you're wasting my time here so I'll just-"

"Why don't you chase real criminals?" she exclaimed suddenly. Spider-Man did not respond.

Philomène flushed a bit at her own outburst, but continued nonetheless:

"I mean… you know… serial killers… drug dealers… that kind of stuff. Not… pizza robbers…" Her voice had decreased to an almost inaudible volume through her little speech.

She thought Spider-Man was about to agree with her, but the next second he was on her, shoving her into a wall. Said wall met painfully the back of her skull, and she saw stars for a few seconds.

" …what, you think you're not a criminal, you think you can rob food without any consequences, what do you mean anyway, _real _criminals, you're as real as any criminal here, what's wrong with you, you _stole _food, what part don't you understand about that?"

And so on. Spider-Man was shaking her like a rag doll all the while he was yelling at her, and Philomène couldn't help but think that he was PMS-ing.

Moreover, she was not fond of what was likely to come next, so she did the only thing she could think of to free herself: she slapped him. Except her nails were currently very long, sharp claws, and she left three bleeding gashes in his cheek. Spider-Man took a few steps back, cursing, and Philo gulped when he looked back at her.

"I'm sorry, man..."

"You little…" and he charged at her, throwing his fist at her face.

She dodged it almost gracefully, surprising herself again.

_Holy mama_, she thought, _this is supposed to be your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man? I'd say he's more like your frickin' resentful Spider-Mad._

The masked man was still attacking her, throwing punches and kicks, which she all dodged without even knowing it. The vigilante was getting more and more enraged, until he finally hit her in the jaw with his foot, making her stumble to the ground.

Spider-Man immediately grabbed the collar of her sweat-shirt and lifted her above the ground. Philomène's head was heavy, and she was having a hard time keeping her focus on the two big, silvery eyes of his mask. She was tasting blood in her mouth.

"Wait, are you the butt-naked girl of this morning?" he asked abruptly, his anger replaced by astonishment.

The words were thick when she spat them out of her mouth, along with a little blood.

"I… was not… butt-naked…"

"Right", said the spider with a smirk in his voice, putting her back on the ground.

_Is he bipolar or something,_ Philo wondered silently, wiping the blood that was running down her chin.

At this instant, a phone started to ring.

Spider-Man stared at her, and she stared back blankly.

"'t's not me", she articulated. "I don't even have a phone."

Spider-Man thus proceeded to search for his phone. After a while, he suceeded in taking it out from his pocket (who would have guessed that suit possessed pockets?) and answered.

"Hello? Yes. Yes, I know who you are, Agent Hill. No, no I'm busy right now…"

Philomène stood immobile in her spot, dumbfounded by the absurdity of the situation.

Spider-Man had started to walk away for some privacy, turning his back on her. So she took advantage of the unexpected opportunity.

Yes, Philomène Paradis ran away, for the fourth time this day.

* * *

**R&R!**


	3. The First Time Is Always Lame

**Author's Note : ***head poking out from behind Thor* Gahhhhh. New chapter? *dodges rotten tomatoes and other displays of hate*

**Thor** : Is this a new human custom I would be unaware of?

But seriously, this is a short, action-less chapter, that I'm not particularly proud of, but it'll do, because you've been waiting.

And thanks to **jewels1798**'s kind review, without which I would probably have forgotten this story.

Enjoy!

* * *

"Are you coming along?"

"Mama said not to be taking rides from strangers."

"This is the bus to school."

"I'm Forrest, Forrest Gump."

"I'm Dorothy Harris."

"Well, now we ain't strangers anymore."

_- Forrest Gump_

* * *

**The First Time Is Always Lame**

"What do you mean, this number does not exist?!"

Philomène's voice echoed through the almost silent hall of the bank. Many clients gave her outraged looks for shouting in the Sacred Temple of Beloved Money. She ignored them.

"I mean", continued dully the overly made up lady, "that this social insurance number is not recognized in the system. "

"It's impossible! I learned it by heart for the very time when I would need it but wouldn't have it with me!"

"Miss, if you don't have a social insurance number, you can't open a bank account. I'm sorry."

"I think someone might have erased my identity!"

"This does not fall within my competence. Now, if you would be kind enough to step out of the way, there are other customers waiting.

Philo looked behind her and saw the indeed interminable line of irritable morning people.

It was definitely too early for this shit. Especially when you had slept in an alley with your rat friends. And had not had any breakfast. And the right side of your jaw was so swollen it looked like a deformed potato.

So Philomène Paradis left the building, staring at the ground in shock. How could her sheer identity not be found? And more importantly, what was she going to do about it? She couldn't access her bank account, nor could she create a new one. How was she even going to get a job if she didn't "exist"?

She arrived at a busy crossroads and waited for the lights to turn green for the pedestrians.

She vaguely heard a phone ringing but, since she didn't have one, she didn't bother checking if it was her.

She only stepped out of her thoughts when she felt a finger tap her shoulder. She turned around to find herself facing a quite tall, slim boy, about her age, holding the telephone from the phone booth nearby, its wire extended at the maximum.

"Excuse me", he started with a deep, confused frown, "are you… Philomène Paradis?" He hesitated on her name so much that it sounded more like "Philo-man Parades".

"Yes?"Philo drawled extremely slowly, as dumbfounded as her interlocutor.

"There's someone on the phone… for you…"

Philomène mouthed something like "what the…" before taking the phone he was handing her and making her way to the booth.

"Hello?"

"We haven't forgotten you."

Philo paled at the voice on the other end of the line.

"What do you want?" She whispered, spotting the boy who had answered the phone watching her curiously.

"You're not going anywhere. And you're not telling anyone about this. Or we will find you."

She felt her heart rate accelerate. She knew what they would do to her if they found her.

Philo kept silent, until she heard the phone being hung up on the other end.

"Shit!" she hissed, and felt like almost crying.

She walked out of the phone booth, trying to regain a steady breathing, hoping no one had noticed the exchange. But the guy from before intercepted her before she could make two steps towards the crossroads.

"Who was that?" he asked in a puzzled way.

"Er. I have no idea. Some bullshit about winning a cruse in the Caribbean."

The guy huffed and smirked.

"Really? Who still uses those anyway?"

Instead of responding, Philomène stared at the scrapes she had just noticed on his left cheek.

The words left her mouth before she could stop them.

"Are you Spider-Man?"

The guy gaped at her for a second before crossing and uncrossing his arms.

"What? No, I'm just Peter Parker." He chuckled like she had said the most absurd thing ever, before holding a hand for her to shake.

"Then what happened to your face?" She responded as she shook it without tearing her eyes off his cheek.

Peter Parker dropped his hand and said:

"Now that's just rude."

Philomène resisted the urge to punch herself in the face. _Way to go, Paradis!_ _Welcome to How to Make Friends 101, by Philomène Paradis._

"Y'know… I'm sorry, you're right… I… this is none of my business…"

She was floundering, and Peter decided to save her.

He chuckled before adding:

"I'm kidding, it's okay, it's just that super-crazy cat in my neighborhood that scratched my face yesterday, I guess it was having a nervous breakdown or something…"

Philo laughed, and Peter looked quite proud of himself.

"Sooo, what's your name?" he asked with his full smile still plastered on his face.

"Philo. Philomène, actually. But I prefer Philo."

"So… Hi, Philomène", he drawled with a wink.

Philo stared at him incredulously for a second before looking back at the street they were about to cross, deciding to give him a chance of not acting like a phenomenal douchebag. She stared in front of her until the lights turned green and they started walking side by side across the boulevard.

"Where is this accent of yours from?" Peter Parker carried on.

"Montreal."

"Wow! I've heard a lot of… nice things about Montreal."

"Like what?"

"Like the girls." And he gave her another mischievous smile. Philomène flushed violently, but more out of disbelief than embarrassment. His attitude was unexpected. In her opinion, Peter looked like a kind-of-cool-nerd, if such a combination existed, with his skateboard in hand and his black-framed glasses. So why was he hitting on her like a sex-lacking prepubescent teenager?

"Yeah, but not everything is nice back there. Like the guys, y'know, the kind that create themselves an attitude that doesn't fit them at all just to impress girls? Not cool."

It was Peter's turn to blush, and Philo smiled to herself, knowing her message had got through.

"He-he, I know what you mean, yeah, total jerks." He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Good! So we have something in common!" She said in a mocking, over enthusiastic tone.

"Yeah! That's great!"

None of them knew what else to say after that. Philomène gave him an ironic look. He was being somewhat ridiculous, but then again, she was not one to talk about social awkwardness. As far as she knew, she was still the one who had made her entrance in New York in her undies.

"Welllll… it was nice meeting you, Philomène", Peter said as they arrived to the next street corner, bringing both hands on his head.

Philo burst out laughing at his silly gesture, and he dropped his arms back to his sides.

"What?" he asked, laughing uncertainly along her.

"Nothing, you're funny is all." She was still giggling.

"Okay, that's a good thing, right?" he asked with a fake insecure expression.

"Ha-ha! Sure!"

They parted ways after that, and Philomène was still chuckling to herself as she walked along the sidewalk, dodging the hurried New Yorkers that crowded her way.

_Holy mama, this guy is hilarious! He doesn't even realize how klutzy he acts! I've never seen anything like this, he just made my day!_

But that was before she remembered she had no identity anymore.

* * *

**R&R my minions.**

**Burnt marshmallows for those who spot the reference to the Justice League : War movie.**


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